Chapter 9
It was late Sunday morning. Val heard the ringing and tried to ignore it. It shattered again and again, breaking her dream into ragged chunks and bits. Groggy from the liquor and sex weekend, she rose drunkenly, fingers staggering for the receiver.
"Hello?"
"Hi, baby. How's your twat?"
The drunkenness swept from her mind, replaced by a freezing clarity. It was Carl Bruno. His coarse, raspy voice was in a class of its own. Drawn up from some rancid gutter and planted in the throat of a cretin.
"What do you want?"
"You, baby. I want you to meet me in L.A. At the Hi-Ho Motel. In two hours. Room Six, baby. And bring a towel. You might need a shower after the workout I got in mind."
Val's brain clicked rapidly. "I can't. I promised my husband I would go with him this afternoon to play golf. He's expecting me."
"Don't bullshit the bull-shitter, baby. Just be here. Besides, I checked with the Country Club. Your old man is full to his ass with lessons for the rest of the day. Be here."
Val held the phone, ready to give another rebuttal, but the line clicked dead. She sat a moment, listening to the deafening buzz, then she slowly dropped the receiver onto its cradle.
Her worst fear had come true. She had hoped, almost childishly, that if she ignored Bruno he would disappear. But she had known he wouldn't. He would be back again and again. His kind always came back, sniffing and rooting like hungry boars; tongues wagging, cocks extended in front like divining rods. They were all alike. All crude, insatiable pigs with nothing but orgasm and dominance on their minds. She would have to stop him the hard way. A way which would cost her dearly. But she had no choice. If Harry found out, he would kill Bruno. And if Doug found out what she had done for him in South Dakota, he would probably pull out of the group. So she was left with only one choice-Angelo Castello.
Bruno would have to wait, Val thought, as she clicked down South Beverly Boulevard. She turned into the plush, thickly carpeted lobby of the Castello building, and held her nose up as though sniffing the uniformed elevator operator's body as she was lifted to the penthouse. A secretary gave her a steady, scrutinizing look as she marched toward the private but guarded entrance of Angelo Castello's business-front office.
"I'm Mrs. Benton to see Mister Castello. I called about an hour ago."
The secretary's face switched from hardened cement to sticky syrup. She rose hurriedly and led Val into the rich anteroom, then disappeared through a heavy oak door. When she returned, she waved Val into the room.
Angelo Castello was scribbling notes as Val walked in. He didn't look up, and Val took a seat patiently in front of him until he finished and pushed the heavy glasses down onto the thickest part of his Roman nose. He leaned back, shifting his expanding waistline in the chair until his heels were firmly planted and formed a Y on the desk. Then he coolly unzipped his trousers and pulled out his thirteen-inch cock.
Val was on her feet, pulling off the black elbow-length gloves. She unpinned her wide-brimmed hat and laid it on top of the gloves. Then she unzipped the chemise dress and let it slither to the floor.
Angelo, his thick, ruddy-colored his ruddy colored jowls immobile, pulled a Havana cigar from a box and snipped off one end. He watched through the thick blue haze as Val took off her slip and bra. She stood in only her panties, garters and stockings. Her breasts were jutting out, the nipples a bright cherry red. She placed her hands on her hips and waited.
Angelo let her wait. He rolled the cigar playfully from one comer to the other, sucking and blowing out gusts of the sweet aromatic smoke. Only the steady hum of an invisible air conditioner filled the room. Val didn't move. She held her ground, feet slightly parted, eyes slitted, lips kept moist and shiny by an unconscious slice of her tongue-tip.
Finally Angelo nodded. Val swayed around the desk and got onto all fours. She crawled between Angelo's fat thighs, keeping her buttocks buried in the desk well recess. Slowly, she rose to her knees and reached for the man's thick dick.
She let her fingers curl around the tool. It was hot. Her hands were sweating as she stripped the joint until it grew thick and hard. Carefully, she pulled the telescoping chunk of meat toward her shiny, damp lips. First she parted the massive eye-shaped slit and blew into it. Angelo flinched, but said nothing. He drew another lungful of Havana smoke into his lungs, exhaling it into Val's face as she let her lips caress the huge head.
Fingers working delicately, with infinite wisdom and ceaseless confidence, Val traced every cord and vein on Angelo's cock with her fingernail. He shifted when she reached through his open fly and searched for his nuts. They were like wet grapefruits in a grocery store display. She could feel a half-day's sweat clinging to their surface as she massaged the gigantic orbs, all the while sucking harder and harder. She drove her mouth down over his rod until it would go no farther. Then she gulped, swallowing and making her throat pulse against the knot of shiny, bullet-shaped flesh.
Angelo squirmed, moving his cock down her throat by a fraction of an inch. It hurt, but Val said nothing. She sucked harder, swallowed harder, and tried to displace the suffocating pain starting to scream in her mind. Her manipulating fingers shoved and squeezed harder.
He was rocking now. The wide, bucket-shaped leather chair rolled forward and back as he jerked his fat hips rhythmically. Val's head buzzed. She felt the blood rushing from her brain as her breathing was all but cut off by the monstrous cock lodged in her windpipe. She mauled the balls harder and harder until she felt the first splash of his come rocketing against her throat.
She hummed. The vibrations jolted through Angelo's reproductive system, nudging the come along. She increased the steady humming until it was almost a flat falsetto. Then the last drop of his come was spent and he withdrew the cock. Val fell to her hands and gasped.
"Now," Angelo said, pushing the chair back and zipping his pants. "What can I do for you, Val?" He rolled the ash-laden cigar tip until there was only a bright red coal resting in the ash tray.
"I need a favor," Val said, putting on her bra and slip. She held Angelo's gaze as she dressed. "I don't come often. You know that. But I haven't any choice."
Angelo, pensively chewing the cigar butt and watching Val's strong, hourglass figure, smiled. "Someone stepping on your toes, Val?"
"Not quite my toes," she said, cupping her breasts. "My property."
"Is it important that I know why?"
Val stepped into her dress, shrugged her hips, and reached behind her to zip it up. "I don't think so."
Angelo waited for her to finish dressing, then pointed to the anisette bottle. "Pour us some while we talk, Val."
She filled two small glasses and handed one to Angelo. He had his feet off the desk. His cheeks were no longer a fiery red, but now only a pink glow. He sipped slowly while Val completed her dressing.
"What's the name."
"Bruno. Carl Bruno."
Angelo's jaw shifted. His small, porcine eyes narrowed. "Bruno."
"You know him?"
"I know of him. He's in the Strattilli Family area. Labor negotiator."
"He's also a greedy pig," Val said disgustedly. Angelo seemed disturbed. He put the cigar down and opened a small book on his desk, eyes nervous as he flicked down the list of names.
"What do you want me to do?" he finally asked.
"Warn him off. I don't want any trouble, Angelo. And he's dynamite. You helped me get out of the business eight years ago, and he's trying to drag me back in. I don't like it. I like what I have." She explained the situation, how she had helped a "friend" out, and how Bruno had come to seek further payment of the debt.
"I paid him fully," Val explained, knowing the custom of friendly persuasion so cherished by men in the Mafia. "And now he's collecting interest not due. I don't think it's fair, Angelo. Do you?"
Angelo seemed more relaxed, as though he had made his decision. "No. It's not fair. But I can't do anything without some risks involved. He's not high on the Strattilli Family list. A small man, but even small men deserve protection. However, his indiscretion was here in my territory, so I have some right. And you once worked for me, so I have that advantage. I am obligated to your welfare, Val. You were always fair with me. Now, I must be fair with you."
He stood and paced the floor behind his desk, puffing gently on the dwindling cigar.
"If I take care of the situation, you will be in my debt. And neither of us really want that, do we?"
Val shook her head. She had gone down on him for old time's sake. A ritual that she once performed daily on her keeper.
"What do you want in return?"
Angelo turned and faced her. His face was rippled with wrinkles, brows scrunched forward. "Are you still operating your club?"
"Yes."
"Who is your newest member?"
Val sensed the question before it was asked. Her skin prickled. "A lawyer's wife. Quite innocent. Young. Attractive."
"Has she been ordained?"
Val's hands were cold. "Not that I know of."
"You're an expert, Val. You know. Has she?"
Val couldn't lie to this man. She owed him too much. "No. I don't think so. Her husband confided in me about that. She won't go the route."
Angelo's face brightened. She sagged down into the chair and picked up the anisette. "Good. Bring her to me next week. I'll see to Bruno this afternoon."
Val flinched. "What if he calls my home again? He's vicious."
"Can you stand him one more time? I can't get anyone over there until this afternoon around four. A phone call is too dangerous. Better to handle these things face to face."
"I can handle him."
"Good. After today you will not receive any more calls from Mister Bruno. I'll see you next week. You and the young one, right?"
It was her invitation to leave. She finished her drink, stood, and left the office.
Carl Bruno was angry. He paced the floor of the small motel room, glancing at his watch and slugging down straight shots of bourbon. He called twice to the woman's home, but got no answer. He was considering calling Doug Stillman out of revenge, when he heard the soft knocking.
"About fucking time," he said, grabbing Val's thin arm and dragging her into the room. She could see that he was loaded. His half-naked body was more grotesque than ever in the sallow, drape-filtered sunlight. He drew her roughly to him and kissed her. His tongue slapped across her lips, thick, slimy and repulsive.
"What's the matter, baby? On your period?" He pushed her away and poured another splash of bourbon into his glass. "Get naked, bitch. I'm gonna really fuck you today."
With quiet resignation, Val stripped off her clothes. She was going to enjoy every minute of this, because she knew how Angelo worked. She knew him better than most anyone else. She had lived with him for five years-from the time she was sixteen until she was twenty-one and wanted to leave. When it came time, she knew that Carl Bruno would get his full payment. He would repay every ounce of humiliation he had brought her.
Bruno turned and watched the raven-haired woman strip. He saw the grin on her face. "What's so fucking funny?"
"You," she said calmly.
"I don't like to be laughed at," he warned, setting the glass down.
"I'm not laughing. I'm smiling. There's a subtle difference. But then you wouldn't know, would you? All talent and no art, isn't that how it goes, Mister Bruno?"
"Shut up, you snotty slut. Who the fuck do you think you are looking down your nose at me? I know what kind of a whore you are. The worst kind! Giving it away and then trying to lock it up later. Oh, I've met your kind before. So don't feed me your shit."
"Let's get it over with," Val said. And then lied to incite his anger. "I have a bridge club meeting later on today."
Bruno leapt through the air for her. She stumbled back, avoiding the full, tackling impact of his body. He caught her around the waist and drove her down to the floor. Her head hit the edge of the television stand, dazing her.
She felt her body being bitten. It was like a mad duck gnawing on her body. Bruno was a beast, but not a stupid one. He bit just hard enough to cause pain, but not to cut or bruise.
"Dirty slut!" he barked, biting at her nipples. She shook her head, reaching to see if there was any blood. She felt nothing more than a growing lump.
"Get on your feet," Bruno yelled, grabbing her wrists and yanking her up. He wrapped his arms around her naked waist and lifted her into the air. His face was buried in her pubic hair. He hoisted her higher until she had her knees on his shoulders and could see his forearms bulging with the strain of her weight.
"Wrap your fucking thighs around my neck, bitch," he grunted, staggering with her locked over him. She worked her legs around his head and slashed her ankles together. Her hands grabbed the thick, wiry hair and pulled.
Bruno opened his mouth and gnawed on the lips of her cunt as he bumped around the room, running into the door, the edge of the bed, nearly knocking over the portable television set. All the time he munched and lanced his tongue at her cunt. She felt the primitive desire building inside her and remembered the play from Friday night when Doug and Ginny had raped her. The theory was excellent, the practicalities slightly deficient, she thought.
Bruno's tongue was hard and thick inside her cunt. She contracted the lips, strangling the organ with all her strength. She could feel her clitoris stiffening as the man walked in drunken circles, his hands pressing against the cheeks of her ass, his mouth opened wide to sap all the juices dripping from her moist, slobbering cunt.
He was growling. Low, guttural sounds escaped his lips and died inside the deep well of her cunt. She felt herself trembling with excitement despite her hatred for the man. He had his fingers in the crack of her ass, pushing them hard against the damp opening to her bowels. She wriggled involuntarily, wanting to sense the full, painful agony of his middle finger streaking up her ass. He obliged. His finger shoved hard into her ass, without foreplay, like a rasp file it seared up her tender buttocks and into her colon. She jerked, smashing her pubis into his sucking, slurping face.
Bruno staggered back. His knees caught on the edge of the bed and he tumbled, bringing Val down with him onto the weak mattress. Together, she still locked on his shoulders, they rolled the length of the bed. Val squeezed her thighs tightly together, trying to strangle the madman whose mouth was like a vacuum cleaner sucking the froth and sweetness from her quim.
Bruno was no longer bitter in his attack. His tongue took on a soothing, sliding, passionate embrace. It swiped around the rim of her vagina, licking and teasing her turgid clit until she started to gasp. Then his teeth caught the tip of the bloody fingerling, nipping it like a dog at an elusive flea.
Val's body stiffened. Her thighs melted against his ears as the man's finger probed deep into her bowels. She clenched her teeth to suppress the scream of ecstasy when her orgasm exploded. She felt the ripples surging through her-at first only slight electrical sparks, and then full, highly charged bolts cracking through her body.
In need of his sensual touch, she pressed her fingers into his ears, jacking them with such force that he finally jerked his head free and yelled with pain.
Val lay, legs spread, head hanging over the edge of the bed. She saw him coming at her. She saw his lips glazed with her cunt juices, and pubic hairs stuck to the veal-colored pieces of flesh. He kissed her and she could smell her own musky odors climbing up through her nose to tickle her brain.
Bruno guided his cock into her hole and rammed home. She felt the jar of his impact. Her back was arched over the edge of the mattress, breasts hanging near her chin. Bruno grabbed the firm mounds, squeezing and twisting them as he pounded his thick, wormy cock deep into her. She closed her thighs, squeezing the walls of her twat around the shank until the insides of her vagina felt like they were on fire. Bruno grunted as she stroked. He called her foul names. He pinched her nipples hard and bucked his hips high into the air before driving down.
Val felt her climax start. She clawed for the cheeks of his ass, dug her fingernails in and held him tightly until he had jacked the cock dry inside her. His final lunge triggered her own orgasm. She felt the insides of her stomach bulging and then imploding. She shook so violently that their bodies tumbled off the bed, crashing to the floor. Bruno was passed out. She saw his mouth was limp, the lower lip hanging open. His eyes were closed and his breath came in deep gasps.
Calmly, she stood and went into the shower. It took twenty minutes to fix her hair and dress. Then she planted a kiss on Bruno's cock and left. She knew that it would be a long time before Bruno enjoyed sex with anyone. That was why she had picked Angelo. Angelo had special techniques for guys like Bruno.
Carl Bruno felt himself being lifted. He shook his head angrily and tried to break the hold. The two gorillas holding him were twice his size. He stopped struggling and stared pitifully at them.
"Hey, what the hell is going...? "
A four-inch fist smashed into his mouth, breaking his teeth as though they were peanut brittle. He rocked back, tasting the enamel chunks floating in the blood.
"You ain't supposed to be so friendly with Mister Castello's friends, Bruno," the bigger of the two men said, wrapping the end of a black rubber hose around his right hand. Bruno tried to talk, but his tongue was numb.
"Mister Castello doesn't like the way you treat his friend, Mrs. Benton. He says you should be taught a lesson. That you should keep your dirty little hands off the lady. And he made a couple of calls to your area to settle it with your boss. Your boss thinks you should be more careful about who you move in on. And our boss thinks you should learn a little lesson about how we handle trespassers."
Bruno's eyes were two frightened balls ready to fall out of their sockets. He saw the tip of the rubber hose fall back in the cocked position and then felt the agonizing pain as it slashed at his penis and testicles.
The man holding Bruno stuffed a handkerchief into his mouth as the beating continued. When it was over, Carl Bruno's cock and balls were one bright-red tattered pulp soaking in wintergreen. He knew better than to call the police. He could only cry and wish he were dead.